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The Bowman’s home was... Rustic, to say the least. Not up to Thranduil’s standards as a man who valued elegance in his own home and life.
A fire crackled in the hearth while Thranduil was alone downstairs. He’d come for dinner, to finally get a taste of home-cooked human food rather than what he’d had at large feasts visiting other kingdoms. The food Bard made was certainly not fit for a person of his stature, but Thranduil managed.
Bard had gone upstairs to help his children to sleep. He thought they were bothering Elvenking a little too much. They were both single fathers and widows, but their children certainly contrasted in age. Bard’s three children were all around 13, while Legolas was nearing 2,871.
“Sorry about those three,” Bard called from the stairwell.
Thranduil looked over his shoulder, taking a quick glance at the brunette coming down the stairs. “All is well. They weren’t bothering me. I know how to deal with children around their age.”
“Your son hasn’t been their age for a long time,” Bard argued.
“Elves age differently, you know that. He was a teenager not that long ago,” Thranduil informed.
Bard came to stand next to the couch where Thranduil was sitting. It was a ratty old thing, Bard had never put much thought into replacing it until seeing it next to Elven silk, but it would work just fine for a late night conversation.
“What did you think of dinner?” He asked as he sat down. Bard leaned on one arm, looking at Thranduil through exhausted eyes.
“Dinner was wonderful. Some of the better human food I’ve had,” Thranduil answered. He crossed one leg over the other and adjusted his cloak. “I’d eat food you make again.”
“That’s a great review coming from you, Your Highness,” Bard chuckled. He paused for a moment to take a deep breath. “My kids say I need to come up with something more creative than stew.”
“I think stew is just fine,” Thranduil stated.
“You’re not the one who has to eat it every day,” Bard replied. He sat up a little to turn toward Thranduil.
“You look like you’re going to make some grand address toward me,” Thranduil observed. He pulled in on himself slightly. Keeping that guarded, mysterious demeanor that he always managed to have.
Bard started at him.
Thranduil was the epitome of male elven beauty. Long hair, sharp features, tall and had a presence no one could match. The light from the fire cast warm shadows over his pale skin, shimmering in his eyes like the moonlight on the water.
“Are you planning on going back to your tent tonight?” Bard asked. His tone was sincere. Many people had asked Thranduil that before.
“Care to stay for a drink?”
“Your wife is dead, she won’t care.”
“I’ve always wanted to see how an Elf slept.”
“When do you have to be out in the morning? I’ll wake you so you won’t be late.”
“I don’t have clothes on me that I can sleep in easily, so yes. I was,” Thranduil answered. He looked away from the bowman and toward the hearth. It was inviting and warm, just like the man beside him.
“I have clothes you can sleep in,” Bard suggested. He leaned a little further toward the Elvenking. “Or you could sleep in nothing at all.”
“Maelui firen,” Thranduil mumbled. Definitely not the right thing to say.
“Well, I don’t know what you said but I’m still offering my clothes,” Bard shrugged. He stood up from the couch and stretched his arms above his head.
“Keep your clothes. I do not want them,” Thranduil huffed. More walls were being put up by the passing moment. Sleeping with Bard was not the problem, it was sleeping with him that was the problem. Laying in his bed, which was probably uncomfortable, being next to him while he snored, and having to deal with the morning shame of cuddling the most sexually wanted man in all of Laketown.
Bard sighed. He moved to stand in front of Thranduil. “Will you look at me?”
The Elvenking slowly turned his head up.
“I’m not going to let you walk all the way across town and collapse into your weird ass cot right when you get there,” Bard started. He took one of Thranduil’s hands and gently ran his thumb over his knuckle. “You have a comfortable bed and someone more than willing to let you sleep by his side right here.”
Thranduil rolled his eyes. He stood up and let out a deep breath. “Do not think this will happen again.”
Bard smiled. “Come on, lets get upstairs.”
Thranduil’s crown found its home on top of Bard’s dresser. He sat on the edge of Bard’s bed, slowly braiding his hair while he waited to be brought clothes.
“I’m shorter than you, so these might not fit,” Bard said, turning around and handing Thranduil a stack of worn-out pajamas.
“I won’t be wearing them forever, will I,” Thranduil joked, trying to lighten the rather awkward mood. Bard turned away from him to go to the bathroom and give him the privacy to change.
Despite having torn clothes off each other before, it still felt necessary.
Changing did not take Thranduil long. He finished braiding his hair, then took off and folded the clothes he was previously wearing. He would give humans credit for using more comfortable fabric than Elves did. Once Bard’s clothes were on, Thranduil climbed into the bed.
The creaking of the old bedframe let Bard know he could come back into the room. He scratched the back of his neck as he entered. He’d changed himself, dressed down to nothing but a pair of pants. “You look comfortable.”
“It’s better than my tent,” Thranduil admitted into his pillow. The blankets were pulled up to his chin. This was the first time he’d slept in a relatively warm bed after leaving Mirkwood.
“I told you it would be,” Bard replied.
The bowman climbed into the bed beside the Elvenking and laid quite close to him. He was a physical man, He liked knowing that people were right there beside him.
Bard pressed a kiss to Thranduil’s forehead, then blew out the candles on each nightstand.